


Eggcentricity

by Holdt



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Comedy, Crack, M/M, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt
Summary: ManMan Thonksgiving 2018Prompt: SuperEggFor: Nice Hat





	Eggcentricity

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [TKodami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TKodami/pseuds/TKodami) for the much needed beta!

The object sat serenely on the floor of the Justice League zeta tube bay. Perfectly ovoid, approximately 64 centimeters at it’s widest point, 143.25 centimeters— roughly two feet tall.

Standing over it, two men were rapidly coming to the conclusion that all was not well.

“Hm,” Batman said, intelligently.

“Mm,” said Superman, somewhat more confidently.

After another moment of staring, Batman spoke.

“So this is the Delusi’kiian ambassador.”

“Right.”

Bruce stared down at the… well, it was an egg, wasn’t it? An opaque, bright pink, opalescent egg. Beside him, Clark sighed and crossed his arms in genuine consternation.

“It’s an egg,” Bruce said, with the air of a man who knows he’s stating the obvious. “A galactic… egg. And we’re expected to deliberate with this?”

“Maybe they got the travel time wrong.”

“No. It’s an experiment. They’re testing us.”

“An eggs-periment?” Superman’s lips twitched.

Under the cowl, dark eyes narrowed. Batman turned slowly. “Superman.”

“Mm?”

“Does it seem likely that a space-faring species would make a mistake like that?”

“Well no,” Clark admitted, shifting. “But it happens. It’s not entirely eggs-traordinary.”

One of Batman’s gauntleted hands clenched. “They sent a fetus to negotiate trade with Earth.”

Superman frowned. “Seems so. It has precedent, though. You know, I know a little about the ancestral memory of the Delus’kiiani, but I had no idea it was this advanced.”

Considering they were alone, there was no reason for Batman not to remove his cowl. He did so, scowling as he raked his fingers through mussed and sweat-matted hair. “So we wait for it… for them, to hatch.” Not what he’d been looking forward to for his next exobiology subject .

Nodding, Superman smiled in a commiserating fashion, but it wasn’t enough to hide the gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “I wonder what form they’ll decide to take, based on the environment.”

Bruce  grunted. He considered this Very Important Detail. Ancestral memory was all very well and good for some, but Bruce’s ancestral memory was telling him quite strongly not to stand over two foot-tall alien eggs.

He stepped back casually, ignoring Clark’s questioning eyebrow. His chest rose. It was not a shudder— every muscle was under his control. Bruce breathed out, and it was not a sigh, because it was silent.

“Hm.”

“Mm,” Superman repeated, sounding resigned now. “And on date night too.”

 

Bruce’s heart skipped. _Damn._  He’d forgotten about that, actually. His frown deepened. A hand lightly touched above his ear, gentle fingers smoothing errant strands.

“That’s all right. At least we’re stuck here together. We could give the ambassador a couple hours alone.” And that was Clark, warm hand and warmer smile. Warm lips, brushing Bruce’s hairline as he stared fixedly at the egg. His voice dropped as he leaned in. “Spend the night in the Tower, find a nice—“

“What if it’s cold?” Bruce interrupted, voice tight. “They.”

“Bruce—“

“They need a nest, don’t they?” Bruce raised his hand to the side of Clark’s face and permitted them both a single stroke before he pushed steadily.

A long thoughtful silence, Clark's laugh on the side of his neck. Another light kiss, then Clark was pushed back, _allowed_ himself to be pushed back. “You want to build a nest,” he said, skeptically.

“Well I’m not going to _sit_ on them, and I don’t see you volunteering.” Clark continued to stare at him. Bruce stared back, refusing to blink. “It’s the reasonable thing to do.”

_Is it?_ To his credit, Clark didn’t say what he was clearly thinking. Instead, he turned to look at the egg again, one hand rubbing his jaw. He gave an agreeable shrug and nodded. Then he set about making it happen. What from Bruce’s perspective was a flurry of blurred movement quickly resolved into not one, but _two_ nests.

Cold weather and shock blankets covered the floor surrounding the egg, as well as the bottom half of it. A smaller, more compact mound of blankets and softer materials filled the dubious construction that had formed behind Bruce.

“What is this?” Bruce jabbed a finger at the offending pile. Grinning, Clark smoothed windswept curls down and flopped, legs crossed, inside the second nest.

“New fortress. No solitude.” He dimpled at Bruce’s scornful scan of the so-called ‘fortress.’ “Well, we don’t want to make a bad impression. Hospitality matters, Bruce.”

“You are not funny.” Bruce gave another grunt of displeasure and crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring Clark’s welcoming gesture. Clark’s low chuckle floated behind him.

“You say that like you believe it, B.”

Bruce stared the egg down. “ _Hmph_.”

Twenty-three minutes later, with an aggrieved expression, he sat, cape gathered in one fist.

“Hey,” Clark said, warmth all along his side, as he scooted closer. “You hungry?”

“No, I am not _hungry_ ,” he snapped. “I signed up for diplomatic talks, not babysitting duty.”

He sat there, doing his best to ignore Clark’s disappointed silence. Which stretched on and on, and… if it had a measurable end, it was not one Bruce had yet managed to find. It wasn’t Clark’s dismay that was the killer— it was his _patience_ that always shamed Bruce, eventually.

“Fine,” he grumbled, letting himself relax marginally into Clark’s half-embrace.

Carefully, Clark feathered gentle fingers through Bruce’s hair. “You’re tired and I can hear your stomach gurgling, Bruce. You’ve been on watch for over 36 hours and no offense, but I can _smell_ the Suit and it’s not good.”

“Don’t sniff me. I’m not a goddamn flower.” Bruce reached for his cowl, embarrassment giving weight to his pique. He subsided immediately at Clark’s apologetic forehead press against his shoulder.

“Not today, you’re not. Mm. Stay…” And Bruce knew he meant _stay Bruce, stay with me awhile, I’m sorry._ Clark’s nose rubbed against the curve of his neck, his hand over Bruce’s not pressing. Asking. “Pretty sure there’s still some decent takeout in the lounge fridge from the shindig with—“

“If you think I’m eating egg salad, let alone _aged_ egg salad. _Let alone_ eating egg salad in front of _sentient egg-children_ , you are gravely mistaken. And _don’t coddle me._ ” He made no effort to move away. The cowl slid from Bruce’s fingers, disappearing in the dark folds of his cape.

Clark’s grin was wide in his peripheral view.

His voice was matter-of-fact and sincere in Bruce’s ear. “I like coddling you.” It was one of the true unfairnesses in the universe that Clark could say something so ridiculously sappy to Bruce with a straight face. _And no one else would dare,_ goes unsaid. Then in a more normal tone, Clark continued. “Hold on a minute. So you _did_ go to the mixer.”

“Hardly.” _I refuse to be snuggled into submission._ Bruce arranged his cape again, needlessly smoothing it with his fingers. “I may have passed by.

“Eggcessive protestation?”

“One more bad pun, and I swear you will have such an intimate acquaintance with monitor duty, the League will think you _married_ one of the view-screens.”

“Again?” Clark chuckled, laying a kiss to his temple. “What about good puns?”

Bruce bristled, then his shoulders relaxed with a silent sigh. It really wasn’t much good threatening someone who knew his threat was baseless.

“ _First time doesn’t count._ You have no good puns. Feed me. Anything but egg salad.” With regret, Bruce accepted the reality: as uncomfortable he was with this arrangement, they were stuck here, waiting, until the egg hatched. Bruce had never left a child in need alone, and he wasn’t about to start now, regardless of the form of said child. There really was no point in not making the best of it.

Clark’s head lifted and he stared across the room, in the direction of the canteen lounge, before giving a muted groan. “So then cold pizza, ants on a log, something fuzzy or hot dogs. Collegiate cuisine, here we come.”

Turning his head just far enough to make his point, Bruce eyed him. “Don’t be a savage. On _Date Night?”_ Not on date night— not on _any_ night, if Bruce had anything to say about it.

With a warm smile, Clark stood. “Think I’ll just take a zip by and grab something. Cairo? Paris?”

“Mykonos,” Bruce affirmed, ignoring the indulgent, knowing smirk. “And bring me some coffee.” At the silent raised Eyebrow of Disappointment, he frowned. Right… _manners._ Bruce twitched. “Please.”

“Greece, then,” Clark agreed. “The scenic route. Just give a whisper if you think of anything else. Be right back.” He left the room, walking on literal air.

In his nest of blankets and exhaustion, a curl finally lifted the corner of Bruce’s mouth. He stared at the iridescent colors chasing themselves across the ambassador’s opaque shell. _Relatable._

“Eggcellent.”


End file.
